Voices

daffodils

A Spring breeze scuds past my ear
as an inner voice speaks.
Neither makes much of an impression
my mind being distracted somewhat.

Daffodils sway, in their leaning,
apparently listening
to the whispering grass,
or so it seems to me.

How beautiful she strides
with bountiful abundance.
Such veritable cornucopia
a feast for us all.

The velvet tones of the goddess whisper on –
her mysteries revealed only
to folk she favours,
or those that have ears to hear.

© David Totski, 2014

Photo by author.

Review

The opening lines certainly speak to me. I love my garden, but am aware that all too often I am casting a critical eye over it and thus overlooking the beauty of the many plants and flowers.

The inner voice murmurs that a flowers petals are as iridescent as a butterfly’s wings. The critical eye sees the surrounding weeds that need to be removed and proceeds to concentrate on them.

The words from the poem, Leisure, spring to mind.

“What is this life if, full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare.”

Patricia Curtis